What're you thinking?
by kiiroi yumetobu
Summary: Ichigo makes a deal with Ishida in which he must speak his mind at Ichigo's request. But when Ichigo says something completely unexpected, will Ishida have the courage to keep his word and give him an honest answer?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't have much motivation to draw because I haven't got a scanner with me, or my tablet. Thus I'm procrastinating by writing!

* * *

**What're you thinking?**

Chapter 1

"You don't really talk much, but when you do, it's usually verbal abuse or lies," Ichigo said as he observed his classmate from the vantage point of his desk.

Ishida slapped his book onto his table with such speed and force that Ichigo almost lost hold of the chair that he was trying to balance on its hind legs with his foot.

"I _told _you to not disturb my reading, but on top of doing _just _that you accuse me of being a _liar_?" Ishida demanded hotly, the irritation in his sapphire eyes razor-sharp behind his spectacles.

The red-head winced at the glare –ok, so his choice of words was admittedly poor. Cautiously, he tried again.

"What I meant to say is, even when people ask you nicely you're always like 'I don't need help', 'I'm not hurt', 'I don't need friends or comrades'… stuff like that. See what I'm saying?"

The raven extended a lithe leg beneath his desk, hooked it around one of Ichigo's chair leg and dragged it towards himself so that the backrest collided with the front of his desk with a muted bang.

"Before I consider answering your brainless question, can you show a little respect for school property and get off the desk? Tables are for writing on, and chairs are for sitting on –in case you didn't know."

Ichigo was distracted enough by the prospect of conversation with the ever-impassive quincy that he did as he was told. Scooting his chair back towards himself, he sat, crossed his arms over the backrest and rested his chin on top –a posture that resulted in another disapproving look from his peer.

"So, your answer to my _brainless _question?" Ichigo pressed.

Ishida narrowed his eyes, the late afternoon sun dying his ivory skin with the shade of dulled grapefruit.

"Lying is to speak a non-truth. I do not say any more than what is necessary," he said in a rather dictation-like manner. "Those are two completely different things."

"See, that is _exactly _what I mean," said Ichigo triumphantly while tapping two fingers against the open book (much to Ishida's annoyance) for emphasis. "You try to sidestep your way out of everything with analyses and definitions."

"I don't want to hear a personality reading from an alpha male like you who always tries to play the lone hero," Ishida snapped. "What is your _point_, Kurosaki?"

Ichigo ignored the lone-hero jab as well (my, was he tolerant today, thought Ishida) and fired back, "you should speak your mind."

"Fine. You're an attention-seeking, impulsive idiot. Happy?" Ishida scoffed at the irked bronze glare that the comment earned him.

With a small furrow of the eyebrows and slightly pursed lips, the shinigami's face suddenly took on a look of curiosity that Ishida did not like one bit.

"A deal, then."

"What?"

Ichigo nodded as if in affirmation, his unruly tufts of hair giving off hues of saturated reds and oranges from the movement. "A deal. You tell me, _honestly_, what you're thinking for the whole of this week, and in return, I'll do whatever you like."

Huh. Whatever he liked.

Ishida shook off the thought and remarked coolly, "an unsurprisingly immature proposition, coming from you. What makes you think I would be interested?"

Ichigo barked a laugh. "You're just scared that I'll try to trick you into saying something embarrassing."

"I am not _scared_, Kurosaki," he snarled.

"Then _prove _it and cut the deal," Ichigo retorted.

"There's no way I'm going to 'speak my mind' to you 24/7 for the entire week, because we'd _both _go insane," snapped Ishida, who then realized with horror that he had just dug his own grave with those words.

"Of course I know that, d'you think I'm stupid?"

"I _know _you're stupid."

The damage control didn't seem to work, because the red-head fumed for only a second before pressing on: "I'll ask you what you're thinking three times every day, and you'll have to answer me –with straight answers, complete sentences, and no cryptic language."

The quincy crossed his arms, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Those were quite reasonable conditions –he and Kurosaki didn't see much of each other during the day, and anyway there were only four days of the week to go. If he made an extra effort to avoid him then he wouldn't even have to talk. He was good at sensing reiatsu while Kurosaki was rubbish at it, so that was in his favor as well –wait, he was actually _considering _all of this?

"And when it's all over," added Ichigo quickly as if reading his mind, "you can tell me to do anything you like. You can call me an airhead and I'll even answer to it. I'll be your personal servant (Ishida, whose ears went red at this, was _very _glad he didn't say 'slave' instead) for a day. I can even eat ten of Inoue's custard rice balls for lunch. How about it?"

"If you think that I'm actually going to take you _seriously _then –

"You're just _chicken_ –

"You are _on_, Kurosaki!"

His piqued outburst echoed in the deserted classroom for a few seconds before he finally registered his own words.

Then he realized –having unconsciously stood up with his hands slammed upon the table in annoyance –that he was staring down at the biggest grin of victory that he had ever seen on Kurosaki Ichigo's face.

And that was the first time he kind of hated his quincy pride.

_To be continued_


	2. Chapter 2

**What're you thinking?**

_Chapter 2_

Ichigo was not terribly good at strategy.

He could clearly recall the look that Ishida had given him when he offered the method of slicing the _menos_ into pieces like a game of _daruma otoshi_ until the head reached the appropriate level for piercing through.

So he had successfully manipulated Ishida into the deal (a deal that he had quite ingeniously conjured up on the spot) –but making sure that he got the most out of it was another matter.

Ishida was a Quincy.

Ishida was a diligent over-achiever.

Ishida seemed to have no family apart from his beloved, deceased grandfather and a father whom he never spoke about.

Ishida hated Shinigami.

That was all he really knew about his classmate –the quiet, no-nonsense Ishida who was so unrevealing of his personal life that his pristine ivory garbs alone gave off an unapproachable air.

That ebony hair and white skin, the delicate features and almost wiry frame –combined with his slight arrogance, these qualities always made Ishida's opponents underestimate his abilities, much to their own misfortune.

Ishida's fighting form had a grace and strength that no other man or woman Ichigo knew possessed. When his pale form glided through the air like rain, Ichigo often forgot that Ishida was not in spirit form like him, but he was a human with the beautiful weightlessness of a cat-god.

That first time they fought together –or fought against one another, as the Quincy might maintain –Ishida had put everyone else's lives at risk, only to risk his own to save him in the end.

And when Ishida fell to his knees, looking toward heaven as if in prayer with the torn flesh of his arms weeping a thick crimson, Ichigo could do nothing but lay there and look at him and think,

_If only I could stand behind him, and hold his shoulders._

* * *

Ichigo blinked stupidly at his warped reflection in the buckle of his weather-beaten school bag.

He _knew _he had forgotten something.

Last night he had been doing his math homework at the last minute when a Hollow showed up –and by the time he had taken care of that and gone home, he was so tired that he went straight to bed.

Mizuiro and Keigo were standing by his desk, arguing about a video game rating.

And Ichigo was worrying about how he could copy his homework off somebody before second period.

Mysteriously, Ishida was nowhere to be seen. Usually he came in unnecessarily early, and when Ichigo arrived he would always find Ishida tackling a new sewing project or reading a book with yet another uninspiring title.

Then with less than a minute to go before homeroom, Ishida briskly walked in, sat down at his desk, and started to arrange his books and stationery.

The two rows of tables between Ishida and himself were empty since the girls who occupied them were gossiping in a corner. So Ichigo, with his head propped upon his arm and his homework forgotten, curiously and silently watched his classmate.

It was a cloudy day; the flaking paint and the decades' worth of scratches and pen marks on the tables blurred into some old, anonymous color under the struggling sunlight.

Ishida's profile was outlined by a fuzzy edge of white as he looked out the window.

From the distance, he seemed so slight and transient, and his skin was perhaps dry and cold like frosted glass.

As he turned away again, his downcast gaze was a dusty blue; as if his eyes had taken a snapshot of the sky and the reflection of its slightly melancholic gray remained reflected there.

The raven shifted, and for a terrifying moment Ichigo thought that those eyes were turning in his direction –but Ishida was merely watching the teacher walk through the door.

"All right, that's enough of the chatter. Back to your seats, everybody."

"Psst, Ichigo!" Keigo quickly whispered, "Remember, come on chat at eight!"

Ichigo frowned. "Huh? What was that?"

He was then aware of a shadow looming over him, and an ostensibly cheery voice that said, "Kurosaki-kun, it appears that you have not properly processed my request. Allow me to refresh your brain cells."

And then, with a rolled up textbook-cum-baton, the teacher gave the top of his head a swift whack.

By lunchtime, it had started to pour.

Since sitting on the rooftop was out of the question, Ichigo and the others decided to stay inside the classroom.

"Why do Americans say 'peanut butter and jelly' sandwiches?" Keigo was saying, "Because they're actually peanut butter and jam sandwiches, right?"

"I know!" Orihime chirped, "It's because someone invented peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but when he tried to eat it all the jelly fell out and got really messy, so he thought that jam would be a better idea. But the 'jelly' term had already stuck!"

"Oh, an adorably outlandish answer from an equally adorable girl! Could my Orihime-chan get _any _cuter?" crooned Keigo while clasping his hands before his breast.

He shrieked as Tatsuki calmly picked up his chopsticks, pinned his earlobes between them, and twisted.

Over the racket, Chad bowed his head in contemplation and said, "Westerners also call _Kurage _'jellyfish' even though it doesn't actually excrete jelly, like it does in that cartoon with the sponge character that I watched…"

Tatsuki paused to look at him.

"When I was young," he added, as if in afterthought.

Mizuiro swallowed a bite of his curry bun before suggesting, "While we're on the topic of jelly, has anybody ever wondered why they call mint jelly 'jelly' even though it's a meat sauce?"

"Ugh, I can never understand Western cuisine," Tatsuki scoffed. "Sounds gross to me. Jelly's jelly, and meat's meat. Oughta keep them separate."

"But we eat _konnyaku _in sweet and savory dishes, and it's kinda like a jelly –

"_Konnyaku_'s made from potatoes, you idiot!"

"Potatoes!? _You're _the idiot –ARGHHHH, MIZUIRO, SAVE MEEEE!"

"Oh, Tatsuki-chan, you shouldn't!"

"Asano-san, you're going to spill your lunch."

Ichigo was getting quite wary of the conversation, as much as he enjoyed watching Tatsuki threaten Keigo with a pair of chopsticks poised at his nostrils.

"I'm going for a walk," he said as he stood up.

Chad, who was impassively observing the spectacle, gave him a small wave as he left.

Out in the corridor, Ichigo stared at a spot on the wall as he tried to pick out Ishida's _reiatsu._ If he was right, then Ishida was somewhere near the staircase two floors down.

At the bottom of the stairs he nearly crashed into a first year, a tiny little thing with pigtails.

"I –I'm so sorry, sempai!" she exclaimed as she gave him a deep bow.

"Uh –no, it was me, really…"

She looked at him, made a noise that sounded like a petrified gasp, rapidly bowed again, and dashed off.

_Huh_, thought Ichigo as he rubbed at the spot between his brows absent-mindedly, _I guess I really do need to work on my facial expressions_.

Anyway, Ishida. That's what he was here for.

He couldn't see Ishida.

"Geez, what the hell?" he muttered, and he tried again.

He went to the pool.

He went to the music room.

He _almost_ went into the principal's office.

Then, in the library, he plunked himself into a chair and unintentionally scared off some boys who were sniggering over a questionable magazine at the table.

Ishida, that twit! He must be using that Quincy version of _shunpo _to run away just before he arrived! And damn him for knowing that he sucked at this sensing _reiatsu _business.

"Bastard," he grumbled, earning himself an icy glare from the passing librarian.

Well, two could play this game.

And fifteen minutes later, out of breath and his head hurting from excessive concentration, Ichigo found himself in front of a locked cubicle in the boy's toilet beside the gymnasium.

"I –shi –da! I _know _you're in there!"

The shinigami narrowed his eyes.

"Don't pretend you can't hear me!"

"I bet you're thinking that you can just –

"Oh give it a rest, Kurosaki," came Ishida's irritated voice.

Ichigo crossed his arms. "I knew you'd pull dirty tricks like this."

"You should really give a guy some space when he's on the toilet."

"Yeah, as _if _you're on the toilet!"

"Now you're just being rude –

Ichigo climbed onto the sink, planted his hands on the adjacent wall for support and leaned over.

Ishida's eyes went comically wide. "_Kurosaki!_ What do you think you're doing? Get _down _from there!"

"Tell me what you're thinking," Ichigo demanded.

"I think you're acting like a _child_."

"Well, since I'm not yet twenty I _am _legally still a child, so 'like a child' would technically be an accurate description –

"Oh shut up."

"Well give me a proper answer then."

"I think a guy who chases me around the school and peeks into a cubicle must be pretty desperate, not to mention delusional."

Ichigo growled. "Not good enough."

"I think it would be great if the force of gravity suddenly increased so that you would lose your balance and fall head first into the toilet."

"Agh! Ishida, you're such a cheapskate!"

"And _you're_ such an idiot!"

"Um… ex-excuse me, sempai?"

Ichigo turned to scowl in the direction of the small voice that had just spoken. "_What?_"

There was an underclassman standing rigidly at the entrance, and he looked positively terrified.

"W-well, um…" he swallowed, and then puffed out his chest. "As a class representative, I must ask you to not climb onto the sink! It is very dangerous, not to mention…"

The boy's words withered away, and he seemed to shrink under Ichigo's incredulous stare.

At that point the first bell rang, signaling the end of the break. Ishida came out of the cubicle and dragged Ichigo off the basin.

"You're going to scare the boy to death with your permanent scowl, Kurosaki," the raven said flatly. "Get back to class."

Ichigo scoffed. "Don't order me around –_you _need to get back to class, too."

"You go first. There's no way I'm going _with _you," Ishida snapped.

"Oh, don't be such a _girl _–OW! You ass!"

"Well I'm not a girl, you jerk!"

They both scrambled for a head start as the second bell sounded.

* * *

In the end, even the stubborn Ishida looked like he had gotten tired of the bickering; when Ichigo demanded that they went home together, he only gave him a half-hearted glare.

Finally the rain had eased off, and the sun was setting at a leisurely pace. The begrudgingly dissipating clouds with their aged orange sheen looked like mandarin peels that have been left in the heat for too long.

Ishida was a few feet ahead of him, his across-the-shoulder bag bumping rhythmically against his hip as he walked.

Ichigo imagined that Ishida read, sewed, and cleaned a lot when he was at home. He didn't seem like the type to spend time on the computer or in front of the TV. Perhaps he had some peculiar little habit alike everybody else, like not being able to stand still when brushing his teeth.

Just as he wondered if Ishida sung in the shower, there was an almost inaudible chuckle. The Quincy was leaning casually against the rails at the side of the bridge, looking toward the riverbank with a soft smile.

"What's so funny?" Ichigo asked in what he hoped was a conversational manner.

Ishida gave him a guarded glance. "Just something stupid."

The red-head rolled his eyes. "Let me guess –it's me?"

To his surprise, Ishida chuckled again. "Actually, no."

Hesitating, he gave him a somewhat mistrustful look before continuing, "The other day there was a terrier here, barking away like mad while chasing a cat. The dog fell into the river and its owner was in such a panic that she jumped in after it. I think the dog ended up dragging _her _back onto dry ground instead."

"Oh god, are you talking about that lady with really fake blond curls? All my neighbors complain about her! She plays this crazy New Age music until 2am, and her dog indiscriminately pees on _everyone's _front gate…"

At some point, Ichigo realized that Ishida was laughing, _with _him, and that was a small miracle in itself. Ishida seemed to realize it too, and he stopped, his cheeks dusted with a little pink as he turned away.

Ishida cleared his throat. "Anyway, my apartment block is down in that direction, so…"

Ichigo gave him a very eloquent reply in the form of a few syllables pronounced as a confused grunt.

The other boy sent him a look that read, _'really, Kurosaki?'_

"I've got to get going," he clarified as he adjusted his glasses.

Ichigo opened his mouth, wondering if he should push his luck.

_Oh, to hell with it._

"Um, Ishida, one more question," he blurted out.

"Make it quick."

"What were you thinking about when you were looking out the window?"

Immediately those piercing eyes seemed to harden into a glassy blue. "Daydreaming, like regular people do when they look out of windows. Do you expect me to remember the details?"

"I've never seen you look outside so repeatedly, and for so long –

Ichigo stopped with a brilliant flush coloring his face. "I mean, not that I've gone and _watched _you or anything –

"The sky," interrupted the grim quietness of Ishida's voice. "The sky was the same gray on the day that my grandfather died."

Before he could process the words in his brain, Ichigo felt his mouth say with unwavering certainty, "But it's not the same sky."

He instantly felt like punching himself –hell, could he act any more like an insensitive asshole, after how tolerant Ishida had been?

But Ishida was merely looking at him, his face blank and eyes devoid of the expected hostility, and maybe a little searching instead.

"No, you're right. It's not." The mouth that said those words so lightly curved most imperceptibly upwards. "I'll see you tomorrow, Kurosaki."

Not trusting his ability to give rational replies Ichigo only nodded vaguely, and watched Ishida's shadow drag out along the wet concrete like a thin rubbery membrane as he left.

He let out a breath that he hadn't noticed he was holding.

_God, what the hell was that?_

_To be continued_

* * *

A/N: I guess the tone is going to stay pretty inconsistent throughout the different chapters. It always ends up happening! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! I really liked getting feedback from the last chapter, so please keep them coming!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Somebody asked where Rukia, Renji and so on were. I'll be totally honest and say that I only just decided that this fic takes place between the end of the Fullbringer arc and the beginning of the Thousand-year-bloody-war arc. I'll just say that the Bleach-wiki site is a godsend. Thank you for the wonderful reviews, and please keep them coming! Merry Xmas everyone!

* * *

**What're you thinking?**

Chapter 3

Ishida saw himself as being considerably good at strategy.

Strategy was about staying at least one step ahead of his opponents. It was maintaining his straight-A's so that he could keep his tertiary and employment options open; so that ultimately he could stop having to depend on his father.

It was also about getting to the bakery five minutes earlier than that lady who liked to test the softness of every loaf by squeezing them with her meaty hands.

Yes, strategy was everything.

So he didn't know what had come over him when he had taken a big mouthful of Ichigo's bait, like a family goldfish that had suddenly been thrown into the ocean.

Speaking his mind –it was a strange request, but probably not one inspired from ill intentions. Ishida didn't know Ichigo well enough, but at least he had known him for long enough to judge this.

He knew that his classmates often worried about him.

Orihime, with her small, sad smile; Chad, with his gentle but question-laden silence. Even Keigo, who often accused Ishida of 'wooing the girls by playing the intelligent bespectacled _tsundere _who hides an inner fragility with an icy demeanor '–whatever that meant.

And that was friendship. A banal but warm thing, like the dry coolness of _tatami _beneath his feet, or the stretched-out sweater found at the back of his wardrobe when he hadn't brought in the laundry in time.

He was sometimes afraid that it would unexpectedly turn around, sink its teeth into his ankle and drag him to the floor.

Thus no one could blame him for being on his guard when Ichigo had almost forced friendship onto him like a one-man game of dodge-ball.

He was too busy avoiding those dead-accurate throws to do any better than crude retaliations that merely glanced off his adversary.

Well, Kurosaki might be right –all he was good at were definitions, cryptic language and analogies.

But when the _zanpakuto _had pierced clean through him, Ishida could find no metaphor as he sat there, looking at that thing-that-wasn't-Ichigo and thinking,

_I didn't expect it to hurt so much._

* * *

Ishida sat back and nodded in satisfaction at his handiwork.

Those sewing magazines, insisting that keyhole buttonholes were usually done by machine due to their intricacy, obviously did not know what amazing things a Quincy could do with his bare hands.

He usually devoted lunchtimes to flipping through new editions of _Cucito, _but yesterday he had instead spent half of the day being chased around the school by a definitely insane substitute shinigami.

If the guy spent the same amount of effort in tracking down hollows, then he wouldn't have had to make a fool of himself during math class.

What was worse, Ichigo made them both five minutes late for Chemistry class, and after school Keigo had given them a puppy-left-out-in-the-rain look and embarrassingly wailed, "you two are gonna walk home together next, _aren't _you!?"

And walk home together they did.

Ichigo's question had first scorched him like a heated blade.

He was mad –of course he would be.

So he was taken back and utterly perplexed when he had not been enraged by Ichigo's simple, spontaneous words.

Instead Ishida had felt a small amount of relief, as if the weight on his shoulders had slightly dissipated –even though he did not understand completely what those words meant to him.

Judging by Ichigo's expression, neither did he.

But today, Ichigo had not barraged him with questions. He had kept his distance, although Ishida would often feel his eyes on him. At one stage Keigo had demanded to know why Ichigo had preferred the company of '_tsundere-chan' _(which made even Ishida want to punch him) to Keigo himself. As he mumbled an excuse Ichigo had unintentionally caught Ishida's eyes, and had looked away as if struck.

As Ishida pierced the needle back into the pin cushion with a sigh, his phone began to demand for attention in a swelling arpeggio.

He picked up the receiver and said, "Hello?"

"_Hey Ishida. It's me."_

Ishida started. "Kurosaki?"

"_Was I interrupting something?"_

"Not particularly, no. Why are you calling me all of a sudden?"

"_Uh, I… nothing. Maybe I should hang up for now if you –_

"Don't be daft. Just say what you have to say."

There was a pause._"Have you__ eaten yet__?__"_

Ishida blinked, momentarily at a loss for words.

"No I haven't –why?"

"_Uh… I was going to ask you… if you wanted to come over for dinner?"_

"Why…" Ishida quickly corrected himself. "No. Thank you, but I decline."

"_My sister's a damn good cook, you know."_

"I don't doubt it, but –

"_We could do homework together, maybe?"_

"I finished mine half an hour ago."

"_What, _all _of it?"_

"Kurosaki, who do you think you're talking to?"

"_Uh, right, my bad. Well, let's study together, yeah?"_

"As in a test of my patience and your endurance? Or an opportunity to be dazzled by the sheer brilliance of your intellect?"

The silence on the other side of the line made Ishida feel a little guilty and he added, "Anyway, your sister will have done the groceries already. I don't want to trouble her."

He could almost hear the grin in Ichigo's voice as he replied, _"That's no problem at all! Hey, Yuzu – Ishida's coming over for dinner!"_

Ishida's protest was ignored as he heard the little girl cheerfully answer that she would whip up another dish.

"_You're not allergic to anything are you? Is there anything you don't eat?"_

"No, but Kurosaki –

"_Cool. See you in a bit!"_

Ishida was left staring at the phone dock speechlessly as the line went dead.

* * *

He and Ichigo's place were on two extremes.

The apartment in which he lived was quiet, sparsely furnished and awkwardly dotted with knick-knacks that he had received from his classmates (his favourite being the sewing needle-shaped chopsticks, a Christmas present from Chad).

Ichigo's house was a cacophony of laughter and argument, with neatly arranged furniture that were somewhat over-zealously decorated with photographs and memorabilia. Hints of gracefully aged wood and bath salts were interlaced with the promising smell of cooking.

Since Kurosaki-senior was 'sparring' with a reluctant Ichigo in the garden, it was Karin who had apologetically answered the door. The moment that Ishida had stepped into the house Yuzu had tugged him into her room, begging him to help her sew a lace trimming onto the hem of a peplum top. That left Karin with the jobs of plating up, setting the table and dragging father and son back inside.

"It's Chinese cuisine today," Yuzu said to Ishida as they approached the dinner table. "I find it a very healthy way to cook."

There were steamed fish in black bean sauce, chicken cooked in a rich combination of dark soy and Chinese sweet vinegar, lightly beaten egg mixed with small dried shrimp then steamed to a smooth fluffiness, and an Asian leafy green called _Gai Lan, _blanched and drizzled with oyster sauce.

The food was served on large plates, placed at the centre of the table instead of the usual style of dividing each dish into separate portions for each sitting. Karin said that this helped with washing up, Yuzu suggested that it was more fun (fun being watching Ichigo and his father battle it out for the chicken wing), while Mr. Kurosaki claimed that it heightened familial love by increasing the intimacy of the communal meal.

In response to all of this, Ishida unthinkingly said, "For me dinner is more of the issue of deciding what to make when I only have to cook for one person."

Straight away he realized his mistake –he could feel Yuzu, to his left, looking at him with possibly a saddened concern. Across the table Karin's eyes were downcast in discomfort, while the unfathomable flicker between guilt and anger on Ichigo's face made Ishida want to flee.

Suddenly a hand clapped onto his shoulder with such force that, despite being seated, his knees slightly buckled.

He turned to his right, and he saw Isshin's gentle, reassuring smile for an instant before the man rose to his feet and assumed a theatrical pose.

"No worries, Uryuu-kun! You'll just have to come over more often to enjoy our meals –unbeatable and fabulous in nutrition, presentation _and _taste! That is our Kurosaki promise!"

"Don't brag if you didn't do any of the cooking," said Karin, then ignoring her father's offended babbling.

"Oh yes!" Yuzu exclaimed. "Ishida-san, have you tried the chicken?"

Ishida started. "Sorry, I haven't yet –

"Can you reach?" Ichigo asked, and then he picked up a drumstick from the plate before him and placed it into Ishida's rice bowl.

The gesture had been so spontaneous and natural that the archer muttered his thanks before they both realized that –

"You used your own chopsticks to serve other people again, Ichi-nii! That's how you ended up infecting me with your cold last time, remember?" reprimanded Yuzu.

"What? Getting sick once in a while is good for your immune system," Ichigo mumbled, but clearly embarrassed.

"Good thinking, Ichigo! Because Karin-chan won't let papa kiss-kiss her anymore, papa can indirectly kiss her with his chopsticks!" Isshin beamed, and with lightening speed he sent a stalk of _Gai Lan _flying into her bowl.

"Don't speak of yourself in third person, it's gross," she said indifferently, and transferred the vegetable to her brother. Ichigo, like Ishida, was too busy blushing over Isshin's remark to notice.

"AGH!" the man cried. "She calls me a gross old man already! Imagine what contempt she will treat me with when she gets a boyfriend!"

"That's stupid –I'm never going to get a boyfriend," Karin scoffed.

"Really, Karin-chan?" said Yuzu with a disappointed pout. "But I thought you liked that boy from the baseball club who always talks to you…"

Karin flushed a brilliant red. "WHAT? _No, _that guy's just a friend!"

"The nerve of him!" Isshin boomed. "What kind of older brother are you, Ichigo? You should've done a background check on this little punk and reported to me first thing!"

"Hell no. Even the _yakuza _doesn't do old fashioned crap like that anymore," Ichigo snorted.

"It's probably illegal, too," Yuzu earnestly added.

"It's terrible!" Isshin wailed. "Uryuu-kun, it's up to _you _to deal with my Karin's mystery boyfriend!"

"He's _not _my boyfriend!" she raged, while Ishida politely refused.

* * *

After a delicious but dramatic dinner, Ishida and Ichigo went upstairs to study. They started off helping Ichigo memorize math theorems by making up acronyms that got increasingly entertaining and useless. Hurting from silent laughter fifteen minutes later, Ishida realized that he had been tricked and smacked his student across the head with a textbook.

Another few hours later, Ichigo was plodding along with his essay while Ishida sat on his bed and sleepily flipped through a magazine.

The distant screech of fighting cats, the smooth rumble of a gushing tap, slipper-softened footsteps on wooden floorboards, and the occasional exhalations of frustration from Ichigo's lips between the sandy scrape of pencil on paper –noises that were being gently stirred together into a lukewarm pot of sound. They came into Ishida's ears with the indistinctiveness of a melody that had been bouncing along the inner walls of a glass dome.

It was so warm, so soft, that Ishida let the magazine slide out of his loose grasp, and allowed his head to droop to the side. When he felt a large, gentle hand on his arm and another in his hair, he was so blissfully somnolent that he almost asked to be put to bed.

At that moment, he felt something that made him wake with a start and jump to his feet with such speed that he almost fell over.

"There's a strong hollow coming –it's heading straight into your street!"

He flew down the stairs without waiting for an answer, and Ichigo clapped his badge to his chest before following suit in his shinigami form.

"Cover me Kurosaki, I'll try to lead it to an open area," Ishida commanded as he kicked on his shoes.

Ichigo unlocked the door, but he put a firm hand on his classmate's arm and said, "No, stay here. I can take care of it."

Ishida fumed. "What the _hell, _Kurosaki? I –

"No," he repeated, eyes ablaze. "I want you to stay here with my family. If anything happens, you and my dad can protect the girls and each other."

Ishida opened his mouth, but the grip on his arm tightened, and Ichigo's startlingly vulnerable expression silenced him.

"Please, Ishida. Just this once."

He did not want to.

But he wrenched open the door and shoved Ichigo outside.

"Then you'd better defeat it before I have to intervene."

Ichigo gave him a weak, grateful smile and went.

With his back against the wall Ishida waited, sliding his finger along the bracelet on his wrist. At the end of the chain that had been warmed from his flesh, the heavy coldness of the Quincy cross questioned him in a faltering whisper.

If he so detested watching at the sidelines even when he physically could fight no more, how could he remain here now?

But something in Ichigo's eyes had told him that if he hadn't complied then something between them would have been broken with an irrevocable finality.

_What could possibly be between them? _thought Ishida with a disbelieving chuckle.

A more often than not reluctant camaraderie, an awkward friendship, and stupid, endless arguments.

Moreover, by skill and instinct he knew that Ichigo's father was not merely a doctor and a family man –rather, if it became necessary he would be more than capable of guarding the household.

So he could not understand what could be so important for him to stay behind that Ichigo had to beg.

Ishida could only wait there, keeping his senses alert to every fluctuation of both the hollow's and Ichigo's _reiatsu_. Every time that he felt the shinigami's spirit pressure climb with impossible speed, he had to anchor himself to the front porch because his fisted left hand ached to take action.

He told himself that if the hollow stepped so much as one foot into this street then he would make his move.

But it never did, and almost half an hour later it gave its final shriek and dissolved into the night like luminescent grains of salt.

There was a whoosh of air before he found Ichigo standing before him, the exhaustion evident in his tense shoulders.

"You should go to bed before you drop," Ishida said tersely.

A gust of wind, faintly redolent of rust and blood, artlessly disrupted the play of light and shadow as it swept through Ichigo's hair and robes.

As the shadows resettled Ichigo quietly asked, "Did you hear what it said to me?"

Ishida unconsciously squeezed the cross in his fist. "That shouldn't matter. You know that all hollows were once humans. I try to let this remind me of why I fight."

As he watched Ichigo's tired eyes aimlessly scan the streets he added, "You did well, Kurosaki."

The shinigami looked startled, but there was a small quirk to his lips. "Did you just compliment me, or is it too early to say thank you?"

"You must be so spent that you're hallucinating," Ishida coolly replied.

"It took a ridiculously long time," Ichigo admitted.

"If you had let me, I could have shot it down from a distance before it could even enter the precinct."

When Ichigo's eyes flashed with a weary anger, Ishida knew that he had mistook his words for arrogance.

"Why does it _always _have to be about who takes the hollow down first?"

"Don't jump to conclusions, Kurosaki," Ishida snapped. "I was just saying that it could have been done with more efficiency."

"How could _efficiency _be more important than protecting my family?" he snarled back.

"And you think that I don't know anything about _family_?"

"Stop turning everything I say into a personal insult!"

"Don't you dare accuse me when _you_ were the one who misunderstood me!"

"Then why don't you just say what you mean for once so that I won't misunderstand you?"

"Forget it."

Ishida shifted, but before he could step away he felt the weight of Ichigo's hand on his shoulder, and the chilled roughness of brick against his back.

Ichigo's voice was soft. "I meant it, Ishida."

He smelled traces of the battle on him, woven with that indescribably subtle and calming scent he had picked up whilst in Ichigo's room. Warmed from adrenalin Ichigo's body heat seeped out from the fabric of his uniform with a tactility that enveloped Ishida like a winter fleece.

He was so close that when Ishida turned, he could see the thrum of a pulse at his neck, the befittingly bold bands of white-bordered black against tawny skin, the rise and fall of his chest between the open v of his robes.

Ishida breathed out slowly, and thought he felt Ichigo shiver in response.

"If we had fought it together, it would have taken half the time, and you wouldn't be so tired. Your family's safety wouldn't have been compromised in the least."

The hand on his shoulder squeezed.

"I'm sorry, Ishida."

He was so close that Ichigo's mumbled apology reverberated in his ears, its remnants tingling on his skin like condensation.

"Then why didn't you let me fight?" Ishida demanded.

Ichigo paused, then: "It was too close for comfort. I don't know, I…"

"What? _What _was?"

"I had to fight alone tonight."

Suddenly he was pinned by those copper eyes that pleaded unspoken words, and Ishida realized that Ichigo's reply had been completely selfless.

He looked away again and dimly became aware of a warm thumb straying across his collarbone.

"You're cold."

"You would be too if you had been waiting here for half an hour."

"No one told you to wait outside."

His blood hummed in content in Ichigo's proximity, and Ishida wondered why he felt the urge to take a step forward.

"I should go," he said, as if suggesting to himself.

"It's late," Ichigo seemed to agree, but he did not lower his hand.

"I might actually freeze if I keep standing here."

"Oh. Sorry." And then Ichigo did let go and move back, he face boyishly abashed under the porch light.

"Thanks for dinner. Will you pass on my thank you to your dad and your sisters?"

Ichigo nodded. "Hey, wait a second."

He reached behind the front door, and tossed him a zip-up hoodie of faded orange and red.

Ishida hesitated, but he shrugged it on nevertheless. He tried not to smile at the overhang of the sleeves.

"Ishida, you're not angry, are you?" Ichigo's voice was so quiet that he almost did not hear him.

He glanced back, eyebrows knitted together quizzically.

"About what I asked you yesterday."

"Is that why you stopped bombarding me with questions as if it were a 24-hour interrogation?"

Ichigo sheepishly shrugged. "I thought I had crossed a line."

"Well. You could have had two more questions, but it was your loss."

Ishida smiled at the surprised raise of Ichigo's eyebrows.

Then with his hands thrust deep inside the pockets of the borrowed jacket, he turned and left.

_To be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm sorry for the extremely slow update. S.E. was about to kick my butt, weren't you? Hope you guys will enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**What're you thinking?**

Chapter 4

_Due to these economic factors the living standards of the middle class were…_

_Were…_

_Were…_

Ichigo let the pacer drop out of his hand and threw back his head in frustration.

Above him, a moth circled the ceiling with desultory sluggishness. Intermittently it collided with the light with a quiet _ding_, dislodging from its pudgy body an iridescent powder that vibrated in the air.

It wasn't like he was a bad writer, but Ishida had basically massacred his previous draft. In some places he could hardly see his own sentences beneath the thin, fastidiously spaced red of the archer's handwriting.

He turned in his chair, staring at the foot of his bed where Ishida had been just the night before. He remember himself darting forward impulsively when he saw Ishida begin to slump to the side –and when he had reached up to steady his head, that ebony hair was so soft that it had slipped between his fingers like sunlight through venetian blinds.

Stooping over him, with his other hand resting against a bare, alabaster arm, Ichigo had felt incredibly confused.

This Ishida, with sleep-softened features and a yielding body that was not quite warm enough, who watched the sky with lugubrious silence, who laughed about little dogs and smiled like he didn't quite know how to…

This very human Ishida, to whom his mouth and his body so naturally responded, made Ichigo realize that for all this time –he had cared.

His reason for not letting Ishida fight was not that he felt like he needed to protect him; because Ishida was not someone who could easily be protected, and he was not someone he _could _protect when he had seen him bleed from his own _Zengetsu._

He had fought alone because he wanted to fight _for _him.

He couldn't even see how thoroughly and unresistingly he had been drawn in until his proximity to Ishida's soul stunned him into recognition.

It was a feeling of simple, faultless intensity that patiently watched him from beneath the turbid nimbus of his own anxiety.

And yet the moth hit the light, again and again.

* * *

"Frankly, it would be easier if you just rewrote the whole thing."

Having proferred those words, Ichigo glanced up to see Mizuiro staring at him with a mixture of misery and outrage on his face.

"Ichigo, I asked you to help me improve my essay, not dismiss it altogether!" he wailed. "Oh god, it's due on Monday and I don't even understand the topic."

Ichigo sighed. "Why didn't you get your girlfriend to help you? She's majoring in sociology, isn't she?"

His friend fixed him with an incredulous glare. "You can't be serious. Do you want me to look like a complete moron in front of a university student?"

"Hey, no one told you to date somebody who's smarter than you."

"Ugh, what kind of friend are you?"

Ichigo had finished his own essay a few hours ago, and had been on the way to the video store when a desperate Mizuiro had called him. Now they were sitting across from one another in the corner of the local library. Reference books were stacked precariously at Mizuiro's elbow, and his essay was strewn across the pockmarked surface of the table, pale and sad like shed reptile skin.

"Anyway," said Ichigo, "Why don't we start with deconstructing the essay question? You've got some good ideas in there, but on the whole it lacks structure."

Mizuiro looked amused. "Wow, Ichigo, you have _no _idea how snobbish you sounded just then."

"You know what? I think I actually had other plans for today…"

"Wait, I take it back! Don't go, my essay needs you!"

_This wouldn't have happened if you had started working on this three weeks ago_, Ichigo almost said –but he realized with some horror that those were almost the exact words that Ishida had spoken to _him _the previous night.

But like the Quincy, Ichigo coached with a limited patience. When he sniped in response to Mizuiro's groans of incomprehension and defeat, he would recall how Ishida would snarl and bite when he was at his wit's end, and finally would silently fold his palm over his forehead as if to wipe away the delicate creases that had formed between his brows.

It was a while before Mizuiro put aside the anxiety of meeting a deadline, processing and applying Ichigo's instructions with begrudging diligence.

A few hours later a completed, thorough essay outline rested on the table between the two students with the quiet dignity of a peace treaty, and when Ichigo looked out the window the sky was already dark.

Mizuiro rubbed at his eyes, looking deceptively innocent. "Damn, I haven't been this tired since me and Keigo had that AV marathon."

Ichigo made a face. "Don't tell him I helped you, or he'll whine and bug me all week."

His friend smiled and said, "Oh, he won't. He's way more hard-working than people give him credit for."

"That guy actually studies?" Ichigo chortled.

"He's smart, he just didn't make much of an effort during junior high," answered Mizuiro with a shrug. "After all, senior year's going to flash by before we know it. It's the right time to start making some pretty important decisions."

"Says someone who left their essay till the last minute."

"Hey, I can't help it if I hate the subject… anyway, let's get out of here, I'm starving."

He gathered together his things, and Ichigo stood to follow him out.

They stepped into the moist air of the late afternoon, Ichigo kneading the stiff muscles at his neck while beside him his friend stretched languidly like a panther.

"I thought I was going to have to pull an all-nighter on Sunday," Mizuiro said. "I owe you a big one, Ichigo."

"You being in my debt somehow sounds dangerous," Ichigo observed, and the smile Mizuiro flashed him confirmed it.

"You know Kurosaki," Mizuiro said, "It's sad that a lot of us won't be seeing each other anymore after we graduate. I bet a lot people will be moving out of Karakura town. Ishida-kun, for instance –with grades like his, he'll probably be aiming for somewhere prestigious."

The small raven glanced at Ichigo, who made a noncommittal noise. Then he continued, "People who have laid out their whole future ahead of themselves can be pretty lonely, don't you think?"

Ichigo had an inkling of what he meant, so he didn't answer.

Mizuiro's brows furrowed and he looked as if he was about to speak again, but Ichigo abruptly turned away, looking eastwards where he had felt the sudden flare of a _reiatsu._

"Sorry Mizuiro, can you take me home?" he said hurriedly.

The boy looked baffled, but he quickly nodded.

Mizuiro's eyes widened in wonder as he watched the substitute shinigami leap out of his body –then he gasped as his knees buckled under the dead weight of his seemingly unconscious friend.

Ichigo shouted out his thanks, and heard Mizuiro's faint 'Be careful!' as he sped off towards the hollow.

* * *

_Where is she?_

Ichigo parried a blow from the hollow's thorny tail.

_You can't possibly understand how I feel!_

Beneath their piercing wails, hollows, too, spoke of human loss and pain.

Ichigo could understand their cries better than most, so he could never forget that these 'creatures' once lived and breathed like him.

He flash-stepped to his left and brought his sword swiftly down its right shoulder. The lightness of the _zanpakuto _in his hand and the minimal resistance in the cut were marks of his steadily growing strength –a strength given up once and twice lost.

From the hollow's severed limb flowed a thick, acrid blood.

It was black like the icy despair that had brought him to his knees when he had recognized the crushing truth that it would never be enough to live only as a regular human being.

Kugo and Tsukishima's cold, fading footsteps, the thundering rain, his friends and family who have seemingly forsaken him, Ishida who lay helplessly behind him, wounded because Ichigo had hesitated in trusting him…

Strength was unforgiving.

He felt this the most on nights like these when the final pleas of a slain hollow resonated on the blood-warmed blade of _Zengetsu._

_I want to see her. I want to see her so badly._

The creature lay before him now, its immobilized body heaving laboriously with each breath.

"Please have faith," Ichigo said softly, and he pressed the hilt of his sword to its forehead, sending it to 'heaven'.

It dispersed into a billion specks of cobalt powder that shimmered faintly before being drunk up by the inky night.

Ichigo sheaved his _Zengetsu _and flexed his hand. He looked for the slight tremor of fatigue in his fingers, but there were none. Somehow, this disturbed him.

"Grandpa said he'd be here!"

He turned abruptly at the outburst. A small girl of four or five was marching her way into the park with a lithe young man in tow.

"You made me late, and how he's not here anymore!" she exclaimed, and angrily she pulled with her little arm, tugging her companion out of the shadows.

Ichigo started. "Ishida?"

The raven hastily glanced at him before turning back to the girl. "I know. I'm sorry. But it wasn't safe for you to stay. Something very bad was coming."

She looked away, wriggling her feet so that the pools of reflected light swam on the enamel surface of her black mary-janes. "Now I won't ever see him again."

Ishida pressed his lips into a thin line, and his eyes narrowed into glints of troubled dark blue. He could not bring himself to speak, to deny those words, and it pained him immensely.

Ichigo suddenly understood.

Stepping forward, he gently spoke the Quincy's name. Those eyes quivered, but remained downcast.

"That's not true. Tell her that, Ishida," he implored.

Five long seconds passed before Ishida slowly, quietly said to the child, "You _will_ see him again."

She turned her limpid eyes toward him and asked, "How?"

"Your grandfather really wanted to come here to meet you today. But then he realized, if he had done that, then there would never be a second time."

She quickly shook her head. "I don't want that!"

"Neither does your grandfather," he agreed, solemnly. "That's why he decided to wait until you were ready to seek for him on your own, with your own strength."

"When I'm big and tall like you?"

Ishida crouched down to her height and firmly grasped her shoulders. "Remember, size and strength are two very different things. You must be patient, and work hard to become someone who you and grandfather would be proud of. Do you know Shakespeare?"

She shook her head again.

"'Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.' Hold those words close to your heart, live by them, and surely you will find him again. Do you understand?"

The girl frowned, thinking deeply before reciting, "'Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.'"

"Exactly," said Ishida with a faint smile. "Now, let us get you home."

The girl nodded and said, "I'm hungry."

Ishida stood and took her hand, letting her lead him. Ichigo followed at a distance.

The archer trod with a noiseless deliberation, as if he were an angel in procession. It wouldn't surprise Ichigo if Ishida's shoulder blades suddenly sprout wings and took him up and away, because most of the time he was so frustratingly distant and unreadable.

Ishida was distant only because he was lonely, not the reverse.

His loneliness was an environment of a closed regularity, and Ichigo was a particularly persistent variable that had stuck half inside –shouting out orders and generally rude things so that Ishida might find the courage to say words that he couldn't really believe in to comfort and encourage a little girl.

Watching the mother cry out in relief as she pulled her child into a tight embrace, Ichigo felt an echo of sadness.

The girl's parents thanked Ishida profusely, her father bowing low enough to make Ishida blush in mild embarrassment.

Telling them it was enough to see the girl safe, Ishida bid the family goodnight, exchanged a knowing smile with the child, and took his leave.

The street lamps flickered on like the fluttering eyelids of a waking dragon. Ishida's pace did not have its usual briskness, as if he were giving Ichigo silent assent to walk alongside him.

"Are you okay?" Ichigo quietly asked.

"I'm fine," Ishida answered curtly.

"Are you really?"

The archer turned to glare at him.

"Why are you asking me if _I'm _okay? _You _were the one who had to kill, not me –

Suddenly Ishida clamped his mouth shut, his eyes losing their fire as he looked away.

_He was the one who had to kill. Not Ishida._

Something clicked in Ichigo's head.

Ishida had gotten to the park before him. He could have easily defeated the hollow, but instead he had taken the child and ran.

Because of the fundamental difference between Shinigami's and Quncies.

The words 'soul sleep' formed on his lips but disintegrated before he could say them.

Ishida had put a child's happiness not only above the way of the Quincy, but also above his moral code and sense of duty.

It was an act that spoke of an incredible trust, in _him._

Ichigo was so stunned that for a while he did not realize that Ishida had begun to speak again.

"Is it wrong to instill so much faith in a child, when faith alone is rarely enough?"

The question was colorless like Ishida's expression as he watched the shadows form a motley of shapes in the streetscape.

"I don't know," Ichigo admitted. "But at the very least, it's wrong to leave her to live with no faith at all."

"Soul society is exactly that –a society no different than our own, where souls have to struggle and face pain and loss like humans," Ishida said bitterly. "It is no utopia."

"Are you regretting what you did?"

"No. I would have only regretted it if I had taken away her chance because _I_ had none –

He fell quiet, the light and shadows sighing over his skin and dying it the color of tears on concrete.

Ichigo felt the urge to fold him into his arms, and he did not fight it.

Ishida stiffened, but he did not push him away –as if he was simply too tired to even resist.

The archer's back was warm and firm beneath his palm, his black hair smooth and cool against his cheek.

"You trusted me that much," Ichigo murmured.

For the longest time, he only heard Ishida's heart beating steadily beside his own, quiet and unassuming like the _basso continuo _of a cello.

Then finally, in a mist-like whisper he replied, "Yes."

_To be continued_

* * *

A/N: Not the intended dum-dum-dum, but then, it gives me more time and space to drag it out over the next chapter. If you liked it or hated it or remain neutral, I'd really appreciate it if you pressed the button below and typed a word or two!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Finally! I slaved over this, I really did. I hope it was worth it. But it's a very short chapter. I'm sorry for such a long wait.

* * *

**What're you thinking?**

Chapter 5

_Yes_.

That single word was the most honest, naked thing he had ever spoken to Ichigo.

Perhaps it was because of the dull ache of loss that resonated in them both that Ishida stopped, put logic aside, and simply received.

Ichigo held him like he knew exactly how. The weight of the arms around him, the pressure of his fingertips against his shoulder blade and the small of his back, the warm pulse of life beneath his ear… it felt impossibly natural, and oddly familiar.

When Ishida closed his eyes and let everything leave him, he realized that it was Ichigo's _reiatsu _that had embraced him like this, time and time again –that gentle heat, that soft warmth, had always stood behind him.

"You trusted me that much," spoke Ichigo, "even if I had…"

It was too easy to know what he meant.

"Why bring it up if it hurts you?" Ishida said quietly.

He felt him exhale. "Not just me, but you and Inoue, too."

"You know that we don't blame you."

"And yet neither of you ever mention it –

"How could we bring that up when you had just gotten your powers back?"

"I'm ready to hear it now."

Ishida pulled away. The air against his skin was unpleasantly cool.

"Tell me what happened," the shinigami quietly implored.

Ishida breathed in; keeping his eyes on the silent nocturne sky he cautiously began to unwrap his memory. With his every word the layers fell away, weathered to the color of rust like the anguished warmth of Ichigo's gaze.

Ichigo was very quiet. And then he let out a shuddering breath that made Ishida reach out and grab his arm.

"Don't, Kurosaki. I didn't tell you to make you feel responsible –

"But I am!" he insisted. "I almost killed you."

"But you didn't."

Ichigo gritted his teeth. "I would have if Ulquiorra hadn't stopped me in time."

Ishida said nothing.

"Ulquiorra died because of me, too."

"You idiot! Have you forgotten that he had left _you _to die?"

"That's not the point! It shouldn't have ended like that."

"Then how _should _it have ended? When Ulquiorra had cut off your arm and leg as you had so foolishly demanded of him?"

"It would have been right, because that thing wasn't me!"

The flash-fire of anger shocked Ishida as much as the sensation of his bare fist against Ichigo's cheek. It was only when he saw him fall back against the wall from the impact, and when he felt the thrum of pain in his knuckles that he realized –once again Ichigo had caused him to lash out not with his mind but his heart.

"How dare you say such a thing?" Ishida snarled. "How dare you, when Inoue still blames herself for having called to you for help? When I had gambled everything I had on the chance that you would get up again?"

It was the shadow of helpless despair on Ichigo's face that maddened the archer more than anything else.

"Damn it, Kurosaki! Say something!"

The shinigami's eyes were dull like incessant, sporadic rain. "I can't ask of you what I had asked of Ulquiorra. And yet it can't possibly be enough to just say I'm sorry. So what am I supposed to do?"

"Stop it! I told you, we don't blame you!"

Ishida flinched at the light press of Ichigo's fingers against his side.

"You might say you don't blame me, but it's still there," Ichigo said softly, "I know that, because I can feel it."

The memory of the wound itself, and the shock and pain of brutal alienation that it carried.

The fear that he could not suppress as he screamed at him to stop.

The resignation that sat in his throat like a stone as his vision was saturated with a light of the brightest, coldest red.

It was so, so bitter that the things that mattered the least to him now were to be felt by Ichigo with the most intensity.

Ishida reached out for Ichigo's outstretched arm and wrapped his fingers tightly around his wrist –like he had done back in Hueco Mundo.

But this time, the pain he felt was not his own.

"Yes it hurt. It really did," Ishida told him firmly, angrily; "but I'm trying my damndest to move past that, because I know that I need to trust you, especially when you are at your weakest moment. Does that mean nothing to you?"

A glimmer of warmth had returned to Ichigo's eyes as he finally lifted his gaze and quietly, sincerely spoke: "it means everything to me."

They both seemed to freeze at that moment –and then from the blossoming pink on Ichigo's cheekbones the archer knew that those words had meant much, much more than just a 'thank you'.

For the first time in the past few days Ishida was flustered –not by Ichigo's straightforward, unchecked reactions that somehow could always move him so deeply, not by Ichigo's touch that clung to him and him to Ichigo's touch like morning mist rising from frosted plains to meet the sun: but by his realization that all of this had always been there, waiting, growing.

Quipping through his trembling voice, glaring through his furious blush Ishida responded, "then at the very least you should trust me and stop looking so damn anxious."

Ichigo blinked. "You mean… that… _really_?"

The Quincy scoffed. "Romance and grammatical correctness seem to be foreign concepts to you."

Ichigo scowled a little, and then he bent down to the side and kissed him –of all places –on the ear, so that his bottom lip lightly brushed his earlobe like a cotton ball.

Ishida tried not to smile. "You are _so _strange."

"Your hairstyle was asking for it," Ichigo muttered.

"Hairstyles are inanimate, Kurosaki. They do not _ask _for anythi –

Ishida stopped himself, raised his hands and clapped Ichigo lightly on either cheek.

"Sorry," he muttered more to his shoes than to his red-eared companion, "I'm trying."

"I know. It's just your defense mechanism doing its thing."

It was Ishida's turn to scowl. "Oh go home, Kurosaki."

He smiled. "You're not trying very hard."

And then he took his hand.

_To be continued_


	6. Chapter 6

A/N, or Not Very Humble Self Advertisement: While you wait for the next update, please read 'Sleep', a sequel I wrote (prematurely?) for this fic. This is a prime case of doing things in no particular order like the ingenious, mad artist that I am…

* * *

**What're you thinking?**

Chapter 6

"Say, Ichigo. You made your poor little friend carry you all the way back home like a sack of potatoes while you ran off on a date?"

It was Sunday morning in the Kurosaki household and in the corridor stood a loud, unshaven and excessively gestural blockade that gleefully carried intentions to manipulate.

Ichigo was three-quarters of the way down the staircase, half dressed and fully jerked out of drowsiness into level 3 defense mode.

"It was an emergency situation, and Mizuiro was the only one around," the teenager carefully replied. "I'll thank him properly tomorrow."

Isshin wriggled his eyebrows. "No date?"

"Do dates and emergency situations sound compatible to you?" Ichigo flatly countered.

His face fell. "No picnic by the sunset? No stargazing on the roof?"

Ichigo ignored him and tried to slip pass his octopus arms and legs; it wasn't as fun as it looked.

"Not even a candlelight dinner!? Italian never goes wrong. There's something romantic about spaghetti bolognaise isn't there? And ooh, French dessert! I was thinking of having udon for dinner tonight, or maybe hamburger steak, and by the way what did you think of the mackerel last night?"

"Uh, it was pretty g –

Ichigo stopped himself instantly, because his father was wearing that 'Ha, I gotcha!' look and he knew that he was totally screwed.

Luckily Yuzu was announcing breakfast time and the shinigami quickly dodged to the side and dove into his seat.

Isshin followed suit at a leisurely pace, wearing a lazy, regal smile as they all exchanged good mornings.

Following a peculiarly length silence he suddenly boomed, "My brave son and sweet daughters! Shall we have curry tonight?"

"Ugh, _dad_!" yelped Karin, who had spilt her soup in shock.

"Then I'd need to buy some potatoes," Yuzu said.

Kurosaki senior rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Or maybe yakisoba… or mackerel? Oh, no, we already had mackerel last night –

"No we didn't, we went out for pizza," Karin interrupted.

Isshin looked positively jubilant. "Oh yes, but our Ichigo here got someone to especially make him dinner yesterday, hadn't he? And I heard that the mackerel had been pretty good…"

"Ooh, was it mackerel stewed in miso?" piped up Yuzu as her sister raised an eyebrow in devilish curiosity.

Since Ichigo was too busy imitating the tomatoes in his salad Isshin quickly continued, "What was that saying about getting into a guy's heart through his stomach?"

And then he dropped his chopsticks and ran for his life.

* * *

After spending the Sunday morning chasing his father around the block, Ichigo found himself inside a gigantic exhibition centre, struggling to navigate amidst the colorful, noisy sea of handicraft enthusiasts.

The girlfriend who was supposed to go with Yuzu had gotten herself grounded at the very last minute, and Yuzu didn't want to waste the extra ticket. Karin and the old man both had 'plans' already, so that left Ichigo.

There were a many hundred stalls selling anything from table cloths to tailor-made period costumes, and the place was packed with squealing schoolgirls, giggling OL's, nagging housewives and gossiping grannies.

Ichigo belonged to that unfortunate 30 percent of brothers, boyfriends and husband who were soon to become little more than coat hungers and shopping trolleys.

"Ichi-nii, Ichi-nii!" Yuzu exclaimed as she dragged him to the next stall, "Remember that lace skirt I had been making?"

"Uh –

"I need a lining for it, but I don't know which color to pick. Look at all this! Should I get the 'pearl' white, or the 'angel's feathers' white, or 'rice husk' white? Wow, look at this, 'periwinkle' white and 'maiden's white!"

Ichigo unconsciously scowled at the booklet of synthetic cloth samples that a beaming Yuzu had thrust beneath his nose.

"Which one, Ichi-nii?"

He had no freaking idea and was not about to make a fool of himself.

"At this convention we are selling our material at almost 20 percent off the regular market price," offered a salesclerk nearby. "What's more, if you purchase five or more meters of a selected range, you can immediately enjoy a further 10 percent discount."

Yuzu looked almost ecstatic, and Ichigo knew that he had better do something soon before she ended up buying 10 meters for every different 'shade' of the flimsy white stuff.

"Kurosaki-kun! Yuzu-chan!"

Ichigo looked up to see Orihime bounding to their rescue, wearing a sky blue skirt, a t-shirt that bore the words 'Afterschool Stitches' and –

Were those cats' ears?

The girls immediately launched into an energetic discussion over the latest episode of some Korean drama, and Ichigo had to repeat himself two times before Orihime finally replied, "Oh! Our handicrafts club has a stall here. Come and take a look!"

When they arrived, Ichigo could see nothing but a crowd of very giggly and very excited teenage girls. Beneath the commotion were snippets of a familiar voice belonging to someone who was trying extremely hard to remain civil.

"Yes. Yes, that's fine. It will take a while, so please come back in 20 minutes. No, I prefer to work without an audience. Thank you, but I must decline; I do not believe that my phone number would be of much practical use to you…"

The sound of a chair scraping across the floorboard elicited duo gasps from Orihime and the chestnut-haired freshman who was distributing fliers to the customers.

"Ishida-kun, where are you going?"

"Wait, Ishida-sempai!"

"Akitsuki. Give me your clothes."

"Huh? Then what am I supposed to –

"Figure that out by yourself. Hurry up, strip."

"But Ishida-kun, we need you!"

"Oh, I'm not falling for that a second time. All right, please, all of you. Come back in half an hour. Go on."

As the giggling crowd slowly dispersed to reveal the source of all the ruckus, Ichigo's brain damn near short-circuited at the sight:

Black tailored jacket, over a white fitted shirt with the first three buttons undone.

Dark blue denim sitting impossibly low on slim hips, hugging a pair of long legs with the perfect sleekness of a second skin.

Lace up ankle boots of scuffed brown leather.

Sapphire eyes still framed –not with glasses but meticulous strokes of the blackest eyeliner.

The glint of a small silver stud on the ridge of the exposed left ear.

"Ishida-san, you look great in those clothes!" Yuzu praised.

"I am inclined to disagree, but thank you nonetheless," Ishida replied stiffly.

Spontaneously and unwisely Ichigo asked, "Why are you dressed like that?"

The archer sent him a frosty look as Orihime a little too quickly and earnestly answered, "Business tactics!"

No doubt a euphemism for 'sex sells'.

"Is that also why you're wearing those… uh…" Ichigo raised an arm vaguely towards the top of his head.

Orihime mirrored the gesture in slight befuddlement. When she felt the ears she said, "Ah, that's right. All of our club members decided that I would dress up like a maid to um, draw in more customers during peak hours…"

The redhead broke off with a flush to match that of Ishida's.

"Peak hour or no, I refuse to remain in this ridiculous get-up for another minute," the Quincy snapped. "Your clothes, Akitsuki."

"It's not ridiculous, you look very handsome!" Yuzu protested crossly while Akitsuki furiously nodded in agreement.

"Ishida-kun, _you _are the one who's being ridiculous!" Orihime loudly and sternly cried, "As the president of this club it is very silly –not to mention _irresponsible_ –of you to make such a fuss over something as trivial as a change of clothing, especially when all of us are depending on you to make this a successful event!"

Ishida was struck speechless, and even Ichigo had cringed a little.

"Akitsuki-kun, you're in charge of the store. Tell Kyoko-chan to come back and help you. Yuzu-chan, come help me put on my costume. Ishida-kun, your presidency is revoked until you walk off all that nonsense. Kurosaki-kun, take him away."

"What –

"But –

"Once unleashed my anger is not easily placated! Be off with you!"

Ichigo promptly grabbed the archer by the arm to tug him out of the fire zone of a woman's wrath.

"Don't you manhandle me, Kurosaki!"

"Shut up, you're drawing attention to yourself!"

"_You _shut up!"

"Look, you're gonna have your own fan club in a second."

"What –oh for heaven's sake, let go. Fine, come this way."

They ducked into a corridor and ascended two flights of stairs, whereupon Ishida spotted a sliding door so rusty that it took their combined strength to wrench open.

Ichigo brushed the dust off his hands as he stepped outside.

It was a modestly sized veranda of steel railings and weather-beaten concrete that faced a dense wall of trees. The early midday sun came down in dapples of crystal whites and pale gold that waltzed across the ground to the quiet rhythm of the rustling leaves.

Ishida had shrugged off his blazer and rolled his shirt sleeves up to his forearms. He propped up his elbows and leaned back against the railing, tipping his head back to inhale deeply like a tulip arching towards the light.

The archer groused, "Some president I am –getting kicked off my own booth."

"Only temporarily," Ichigo reminded him.

His genuine (but poor) attempt to reassure went down the drain as Ishida gave him his second frosty look for the day.

"Have you perhaps forgotten that following this 'temporary' suspension I have to go back and spend seven more hours in this clown suit?"

"Look, if it bothers you that much, swap clothes with me."

"And have Inoue-san chase after both of us? I don't think so."

"At any rate, there is absolutely nothing wrong with what you're wearing."

Ishida was bristling. "Are you delusional? Look at this! This shirt ought to be at least two sizes larger. These jeans are so tight that I might as well be wearing stockings like Henry the eighth! And I keep on making a fool of myself because I'm trying to push up my glasses when I'm not actually wearing any –

"Seriously Ishida, have you looked at yourself in the mirror?"

"_What?_"

Ichigo smiled a little sheepishly. "You have no idea how incredible you look right now, do you? Those girls were fawning over you for a reason."

Ishida reddened and ducked his head. "Well, I don't need any more of that."

Ichigo snuck closer and said casually, "True enough, since you're no longer available."

"What are you implying?" It was a retort, but Ichigo took it as a question.

"What do you think I'm implying?"

He reduced the distance to within an arm's length.

"Oh, like I would know what goes on in that brain of yours."

"Our deal is still in effect, and that was one of my questions."

His hands were on the railing on either side of the Quincy's arms, and he was so close now that those black-rimmed eyes could probably kill if they should glare.

Still as a forest of winter pines, Ishida was flushed to the tips of his ears and unbelievably gorgeous.

"I presume the implication is a romantic relationship between two committed parties."

It had been no more than a murmur but Ichigo's heart was answering with symphonic intensity.

"Exactly," he replied in a hush, "and that would be you and me."

He braved past that last inch and their mouths came together in a quietly spectacular exchange of taste and scent and promise.

It was a physiologically uncomplicated flesh against flesh, but for all Ichigo knew it could have been an explosion of polyphonic sound and nameless wild colors because the sensation was making him soar.

Slowly Ishida was yielding to the kiss, his lips parting ever so slightly like an awakening blossom.

Ichigo cautiously swiped his tongue across that gap; dipping into the water in torturous anticipation of the delicious burn.

His hands rose: the left to cradle the back of Ishida's head, the right to splay over the small of his back in a tenderly possessive embrace.

Then the archer's arms were around him too, and it soon became a question-answer game between two shyly questing tongues.

They were chest to chest and the pit of Ichigo's stomach was tingling with a familiar growing heat.

It was Ishida who had more self control than he and pulled back, breathing fast through bruised lips as he look at him with soft, glazed blue eyes.

Ichigo ran his finger along the ridge of a pale ear, his thumb rolling around the spherical coolness of the small piercing.

"Oh hell, it's real," he muttered.

Ishida laughed lightly. "You say that as if my ear might fall off because of it."

Ichigo 'hmmed' in reply while his digits continued to stray, exploring the delicate sculpture of soft cartilage and warm flesh.

"Stop that," Ishida chided quietly, his voice lusciously hoarse and enticingly palpable against his skin.

"Right," Ichigo agreed even as his hands remained on autopilot, slipping into Ishida's open collar and drawing circles on his hip.

"Kurosaki, I meant it," he warned, this time with more conviction.

Ichigo sighed with a little drama as he let go and moved to Ishida's side.

"By the way," the shinigami said after a while, "they didn't make you get a piercing just for this convention, did they?"

Ishida frowned. "Of course not, that's preposterous. I got the piercing a long time ago."

"Not to make a fashion statement, I presume," Ichigo joked.

"Actually," the Quincy replied lightly, "I did it to annoy Ryuuken."

Ichigo's mouth dropped open. "You got your ear pierced to piss off your _dad_?"

"It wasn't a terribly original method of child rebellion, I'll admit."

"Right… don't tell me you got a tattoo as well."

"Hm, now there's an idea."

The shinigami shook his head in disbelief. "And what else don't I know about you?"

His companion raised a challenging eyebrow. "That's for you to find out."

"How about dinner, then?"

Ishida speechlessly stared at him for a few seconds –and then he started to laugh, and he looked incredibly happy and absolutely beautiful.

"So, what're you thinking?" His heart had bumped its way into his throat but Ichigo pressed on. "Should we eat in or out?"

"I think you're being a little presumptuous here –who said I was free?" Ishida retorted with the barest hint of a smile.

"_I _did?" Ichigo replied hopefully.

"Well, I _was _free, but I suppose I'm not, now," said Ishida with a shrug as he started to make his way back inside.

Ichigo blinked a few times before running after him.

"Hey, wait! What's _that _supposed to mean? Ishida!"

_Owari_

* * *

A/N: It seems that this chapter became my excuse to indulge in putting Ishida in sexy clothes, as well as his sexy new haircut (ear fetish, yes), as well as first kisses, as well as… anyway, I'm sorry!

Does that make it a pointless last chapter? If it does, do not fear, for an epilogue is near!

A review would be nice?


End file.
